Your Duty
by Mad18Max
Summary: Van Helsing, after losing Anna, decides to go back to work.  He begins hunting a lone werewolf stalking and killing the people of a secluded village.  But things aren't always the way they seem.  Pairing: VH&OC.  C'mon give it a read, you know you want to
1. Werewolf Scars

The forest was silent. Even the birds and the small animals could sense something was about to happen and had taken cover. The light of a full moon would soon be visible but twilight had not yet fallen, the sun still shone above the horizon. Even with the light of the full moon this dark pervasive forest was going to be tricky to maneuver in. He smiled; this was going to be fun.

He lifted his head and took in a sniff of the pre-storm air. He would have to finish this quickly before it began to rain. He had taken his place in a tree several hours earlier; he hadn't even moved to massage away the cramps. Not a leaf had fallen from the branch since he had taken his position,

A werewolf was hunting the people of a nearby village, that much he was sure of. He had been sent to investigate, and had found his quarry. It was a woman who had been living in the village 18 years now, as long as the attacks had happened. A lone werewolf was rare but it happened.

His suspicions had first been raised when he'd spotted her in a bar, she was a waitress there. She was pretty, he would admit that much.

She had blonde hair as pale as silver, which she wore fairly short, shoulder length. She had a long face, small features, altogether very normal looking, except the eyes. Her green eyes were unusually prominent, dark and deep, but knowing somehow. What made her beautiful however wasn't a youthful face, it was a face etched with memory in the creases. It was a face, heavy with sorrow that echoed with meaning; as much as she tried to seem inconspicuous she stuck out of a crowd, with a grace that defied age or time.

But what had truly made him question her, was the scar. It was three scratches running from the bridge of her nose down her cheek and neck to where it disappeared under her hair. She wore the bangs on her hair long, parted her hair on the side and wore it over the left side of her face to try and hide it. But it was livid red, and he knew a werewolf scar when he saw one. He had several, from werewolves that hadn't turned yet, they never really healed.

He had gotten the owner of the bar quite drunk and asked about her. It had taken a lot of patience to listen to the slurred phrases and he realized the man had already been quite drunk when he'd bought him a round. But he listened carefully.

She had lived in the village the previously mentioned 18 years; but according to the bartender she had never aged a day, apparently he had been around since then. As beautiful as the day she'd stumbled into town, he'd garbled.

She was quiet, never gave anyone any reason to suspect her. Her only problem was her temper. In the beginning, before people got wise, men did what drunken men did to pretty bar waitresses, or they tried to. According to him, the first man to try it had gotten a quick one to the face and a threat with a knife before she'd been stopped. The owner had threatened her with her job.

But that had been a long time ago, most people knew now just to keep their distance and she was pleasant. However anyone who hadn't learned that was quickly escorted outside and seen the next day with several bruises. He couldn't suppress a laugh when he'd heard that. That was as much as anyone knew about her.

She was the perfect suspect, it was clear, no matter what story she used, she'd been clawed by a werewolf, she didn't age, was stronger beyond any reasonable explanation than most men, and kept to herself.

The scar also explained why she was a lone werewolf. He knew a fair amount about pack order. When a werewolf was exiled from a pack but refused to beg for mercy it was branded by the alpha male or female according to the corresponding sex. The scar, a paw across the face was a way of being honorably discharged from a pack. The Were was free to join any other pack from that point. If a Were was exiled and did plead for mercy from the alpha, it was usually killed or left in dishonorable exile, without a scar, to be shunned by other packs.

The scar revealed something; she was smart or brave enough to fight against her exile, but she had been bested enough to have lost.

So that is why he was sitting in a tree, giving dirty looks to the squirrel who refused to leave, and waiting for a pretty girl to come through the faint game trail, aiming a gun at where she would eventually emerge. Because he had to hunt the creature killing people, because he was Van Helsing.


	2. Your Duty

As much as he wanted to wait until next month, unfortunately, the middle phase of the full moon was tonight. He couldn't let her kill another person. It was easy enough to figure out she went deep into the forest using a faint game trail. Then she let herself turn in a clearing; where she became the black werewolf that killed innocent villagers for the fun of it, like a sick sport.

He had a revolver in hand, with a silver bullet loaded in the chamber. One shot is all he would need. He faced a lot of creatures in his line of work. Werewolves were one of the most difficult creatures to kill, but only when they had turned. The sky was cloudless tonight, which meant once she had turned, he wouldn't catch a break. So he was waiting, he was downwind of the site where she turned, and as long as she came tonight to turn, she never would again.

Werewolves were a touchy subject with him. At first when the priest had told him this was his next assignment he had tried to refuse. He knew the unfairness of being turned, which gave him sympathy, but he also hated werewolves when he thought of Anna's beautiful face, which fueled his hatred. It was conflicting and confusing, but in the end a werewolf killed innocent people, and so it was his duty to end it.

He couldn't even hear her footsteps until she was 30 feet away. Her steps on the path were soft and faint. He raised the revolver; one shot is all it would take. She was wearing a heavy black cloak, the hood raised to hide her face. Although the eyes were shinning from under the hood; even though the sun was still sinking behind the hills.

When she got to the clearing she pulled off the cloak and hung it neatly on a branch. From inside of it she drew out a pair of chains. She wrapped the chains around a thick tree and shackled her arms, the second set meant for her legs.

Van Helsing could feel his heart tighten; she didn't want to kill people. She was trying to stop herself. No wonder she was still killing, those chains were nowhere near thick enough for a werewolf. It only made him hesitate for a moment, when the soft clink of the chains around her arms fastened, he cocked the gun.

Her head turned instantly, searching. He wanted to swear, werewolves had deepened senses; but he'd never heard of them being so acute. She searched from under her veil of hair. Van Helsing waited.

Her eyes scanned the ground below him; he let his eyes flick to the ground. He really wanted to swear, the ground beneath him had a fair unusual number of leaves and twigs, which had fallen when he had climbed up.

He waited for her to look away, but her gaze rose and barely squinting, he knew she saw his face. He pulled the trigger without a second thought, and it would have hit her, if she hadn't whispered, "just do it."

The sound of her voice broke his concentration. Her voice was so soft and gentle, but lined with such deep thought and memory. She closed her eyes and looked away as he pulled the trigger, but the bullet buried itself into the wood of the trunk. Her eyes flashed instantly.

(Insert the exciting music here)

She started to take cover behind the tree. Van Helsing grabbed the crossbow he had hung from a branch, and rolled off the tree branch. She could hear it when he did, and she made a swift dive for the cloak which must have had the key inside it for such a desperate bid.

He hit the ground on his feet, and fired a shot. Her head jerked up at the noise, and she waved her arm in front of her face. A metal vambrace on her arm is all that kept an arrow from getting firmly embedded into her arm. The arrow glanced off of it, and she made for the cover of the tree again, abandoning the key.

Her hair was flying wild, revealing more of her face, her eyes were alive and shinning, but without fear, excitement was showing through. Van Helsing cast a glance toward the horizon, the sun was sinking beneath it, half gone already; he didn't have much time.

He barely moved in time to avoid catching a very large rock with his head. He swiveled to avoid it, but it got his crossbow. Now he was ticked off. He grabbed the silver knife out of a sheath at his waist. He moved quietly, her heaving breath covering the soft sounds of his footfalls. He had barely caught her in his line of sight when she spotted him.

She saw the close range weapon, and held her ground. "I'm not the one you're seeking," she called taking a fighting stance.

"I can not tell you how many times I've heard that," Van Helsing made a quick bid towards her. Her leg swept up and kicked the blade out of his hand.

"How many times have you tried to listen?" she asked calmly.

He rubbed his hand; she was faster than she looked. He calmed himself and steadied his breathing, a quick glance at the horizon as he picked up the six inch hunting blade.

"You've got a full five minutes until the moon rises and you turn, until that point you're shackled to a tree, and I've got a knife," he reasoned, hoping five minutes was true. He pulled down the mask covering his face.

"You don't understand I'm not going to turn!" she cried desperately.

"Sure," he could see the way that plan would end.

"I'm not lying to you!" she cried, as he made another swift attack, he laid a deep cut on her arm, before she elbowed him in the chest and sent him flying with a swift kick. The next second she was pushing against the tree with her leg, the chains groaning slightly.

Van Helsing laughed, until the chains creaked dangerously. Even unturned werewolves weren't strong enough to break chains like that. The strain was reflected on her face. But unbelievably a link on the opposite side of the trunk snapped. The chains went flying, Van Helsing had to leap backwards to avoid being hit.

The woman cried out as the chains lashed her bare skin, but she looked over with a half-smile of triumph. Van Helsing didn't understand, clearly this wasn't like other Weres, she was much too strong, her senses too acute.

"I have heard of you," she began to twirl the chains still shackled to her arms. "You are the one they call Van Helsing, who defeated Dracula at the Vatican, the one they called Hyde in London, and countless others. You are a hero and a murderer. I would not wish to kill you, I appreciate what you do; but my sense of self-preservation is stronger." Her voice was cold, calm, and calculating.

"Yeah I know what you mean," he said softly, he went at her again. He grabbed one of the chains, and tried for a clean stab to the stomach. But she pivoted as he grabbed a chain. One of the pair smacked into his side, sending a wave of pain through his body, he gritted his teeth. Another one smacked the knife from his hand.

When he turned she was already running out of the clearing. He grabbed the knife and followed. Normally such a creature could have outdistanced him easily; but the chains she was trying to gather up were hindering her progress.

She was running light footed, and he could barely keep up, but the weight of the chains snagging at trees, and the profusely bleeding side wounds, and the one on her arm, were all working against her.

Van Helsing put on an extra burst of speed, and threw himself on top of the werewolf, who fell to the ground. He got to his knees, one on the ground one at the broad of her back. He slid the blade under her throat, and was about to pull it across, when she cried out.

"Wait!" her voice trembling, barely audible through how much she was panting. "I'm not fighting back, I'm sick of fighting for my right to live damn it! If you think I'm a Were than kill me! But if you have the smallest amount of doubt than you have to let me live. I don't care much one way or the other; but in the name of God, do your duty."

Suddenly the small amount of light that was present vanished. Van Helsing, without lowering his guard looked back. The sun was entirely hidden, a quick glance up revealed the moon shinning brightly.

"Told you so," she whispered.


	3. Rossalyn's Story

He raised himself off of her, a slightly embarrassed position. She pulled herself to her knees and hands. He offered a hand to her which she ignored, rising to her feet, wincing at the deep gashes left by the chains, still dragging at her.

She tossed back her hair, and looked Van Helsing right in the eyes, her gaze fixed in a penetrating stare. How long they stood there neither was sure. Suddenly she turned on her heel, and started walking away.

"Uh uh! Uh uh!" Van Helsing found himself calling incredulously. "Where do you think you're going?" He rubbed his fingers, stiff from the blow of the chains.

"Anywhere but here," she called over her shoulder, angrily.

"Turn around and get back here!" he called like he was speaking to an insolent child.

"Bite me!" she called.

"I've proven I can beat you," he called stalking on after her.

"Barely," she snapped back, pulling at one of the chains that had snagged on a tree.

"All the same," he came up behind her. She was still trying to yank herself free. The chain suddenly pulled free, and hit squarely on her gash. She grabbed at the wound, several choice swears issued from her lips that Van Helsing could only assume she'd heard in the bar.

"Well that was ladylike," he said plainly.

"Like you're such a gentlemen," she combated rounding on him. "I can still feel your knee in my back!"

"Sorry about that," that much was true, he spoke it as such. "But how many times do you think I come across a target who's telling the truth?"

"Only as much as you believe they are; which at this rate…" she trailed off turning on her heel again.

Van Helsing put a quick hand to her shoulder, stopping her. "Hey if you want to be a lady you have to say 'please excuse me'." She listened to this pompous banter, and let out a quick laugh, shrugging off his hand.

"I'd give you an etiquette tip; but I'm sure I won't be able to stop at just one." She tried to take a step and faltered, going to her knees, clutching at the slash in her right side, gasping.

Van Helsing acted on instinct. He bent and put her right arm over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" she snapped as he lifted her, her entire weight on him. He leveled her feet to the ground, an awkward position as he was several inches taller than she.

"What's it look like?" he asked conventionally and comfortably.

"Get off of me!" she snapped.

"Oh stop it," he said without an ounce of sympathy.

"Or what?" she challenged.

"Or I'll carry you," the threat wasn't empty.

"What are you a murdering hunter or a gentlemanly saint?" the sentence was dripping with sarcasm. "Make up your mind…" a cry issued from her lips as he bent and grabbed her legs. As he stood she slid onto his shoulder, squirming weakly from loss of blood.

"Told you," he said, she could only manage to fight back faintly for a few more moments, before her head started swimming and she was fighting just to stay conscious.

"So who are you?" Van Helsing asked at length.

She sighed, too tired to fight. "My name is Rosalyn Calcavanti."

"What is that, Italian?" he asked, conventionally as if they were speaking over dinner at the home of a mutual acquaintance.

"Yes," she resigned.

"Where'd you get the werewolf scratch," he asked as they entered the deserted town.

"It's not a-" he cut her off.

"Don't lie to me," he said less pleasantly. He wound his way through the town. He advanced on the building the city was putting him up in, nice place really; when you considered he'd been sleeping on the ground for a week to get there.

She sighed again, "it's a rather long story."

"My favorite kind," he said pushing open a door. This late at night on a full moon all of the townspeople were holed away in safety. Thusly he let himself in with his guest, and climbed the stairs to his room.

It consisted of a sitting room with a small library, a bedroom beyond a door, and an open kitchen and dinning area. The place was comfortably furnished. He was staying in some sort of a guest room in city hall. So it was of a modest variety of fancy. He entered the rooms and set her on an armchair. He put his hand on her forehead and forced her head up, pulling back her hair. She looked defiantly but weakly back; as soon as he opened his lips to let off a smart remark she shot off ominously, "not a word."

She was very pale; he shrugged and crossed immediately to his bags to grab his first aide supplies.

It took a few minutes for him to pick the locks of the chains still bound around her wrists. As he did she began to nod off, fighting to stay awake. As her head stayed down a moment too long and Van Helsing snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hey, don't fall asleep yet."

She shook her head, "sorry." Her head shot up, and she spoke with new sarcastic vigor, "Wait, no I'm not."

Van Helsing nodded his head a sarcastic look on his face, "cute."

"So who the hell are you supposed to be, hell being the operative word?" she asked.

"Like you said, my name is Van Helsing," he ripped at the fabric he'd cut through on her upper arm. The wound wasn't deep, only making it through skin and a small layer of muscle. He applied a dressing to it and bound it shut.

"A title and surname, what's the first?" she asked.

He glanced up at her face, nothing malicious there, it was an innocent question.

"Gabriel," it was easier than telling the truth.

"The mighty archangel, it's a strong name."

He grunted in response, and started to clean the wounds at her side. He couldn't help whistling. It was more of a purple and black bruise than a cut but it was still bleeding like it had been a dagger. He knew how hard the chains must have been swinging to have broken the skin when they were blunt. He started drawing a rag across the wound to clean off the blood.

She swiped at his hands. "I'll get it," she said viciously. He shrugged, and sat on the arm of a chair conversationally, waiting patiently for her to finish. He started flexing his fingers where the chains had smacked into them. He seemed to catch a little remorse in her stare when she saw him doing it, but she said nothing. Eventually she finished, and started to stand, still weak she fell back into the chair clutching at her head.

"Don't bother," Van Helsing brandished the key to the locked door. He would have preferred having this little powwow somewhere besides his residence; but he had figured it might have come to this.

She sighed, "What do you want?"

"Answers," he responded simply.

"Yes well you won't get any," she said getting a little fire back into her voice.

"I don't want this to get unpleasant," was his only response.

"What's to know?!" she yelled, instant anger welling up in her. "Yes I was scratched by a werewolf; but I don't turn. I'm not the creature you're seeking, can I go now?" Her face was angry but Van Helsing remained calm.

"I want the story, not the punch line."

"Why?! It doesn't help you with your investigation."

"It might, besides I'm curious."

"You'll get nothing out of me," she responded rebelliously but with a certain dignity, holding her head high, despite the difficulty.

Van Helsing shrugged, like it was a pity but nothing more. He made his way over to the small kitchen, and grabbed the first edible thing that met his hand, a piece of bread. He started making some semblance of tea he found in a cupboard.

He caught her reflection in a pot in front of him. She had buried her head in her hands, and was, unless he was mistaken, sobbing quietly. He felt a little pity for her; but ignored it.

Van Helsing was a good judge of people. This was his appraisal from what little he did know about her: from her attitude, when she was banished from her pack she must have fought back. This was a girl who had the lesson that the only one you can trust is yourself taught to her many times. She was stubborn and proud, so she had lived in an environment where she had had to protect herself and she was suspicious of anyone that she didn't see with a clear motive. Her life must have been terrible. When he'd given her help after she'd stumbled she'd been distrustful and confused. No amount of force would crack her; she would stand merely on principle until death.

She lifted her head and looked out a window, wiping at her eyes. The rain started, she had senses like nothing he'd ever seen.

When the hot drink was finished he poured a cup and handed it to her. Her gaze was plainly distrustful, and she didn't try to hide how confusing this was to her. "Thanks," she muttered and took a sip. If she had been crying she was good at hiding it.

Van Helsing waited. Another sigh, she buried her head in her hands, "if I tell you can I leave?"

"Yes," sometimes a cup of tea did more than a knife to the throat could. Normally he wouldn't have cared about some girl, but he had lost his chance to finish of the werewolf killing people and he wanted answers.

"Fine," she pulled her knees to her chest, setting her head on her knees, setting the cup on the arm of the chair.

When she spoke to Van Helsing she wasn't looking at him, she just stared out the window. "It starts out a long time ago, almost fifty years ago. My parents," she hesitated, "my parents were both of my kind. I was conceived in their human state, so when I was born no one knew what to expect. My parents were proud of what they were; if I couldn't turn I might as well have been dead to them. As it turns out, I could. I got older and I took my place in the pack.

"My pack was one of the first to turn together; we'd go into a clearing, far away from people, and hunt the three nights of the full moon. As I got older, one night I wandered away from the group, I got lost for a short time. But it was long enough to find a scouting party of people," she hesitated and her voice turned cold with regret. "I killed them all. When I woke up and saw what I'd done, I panicked. I ran. I left clean, left my pack, left everything behind."

"I went to a new town and," she hesitated and Van Helsing could tell she was mentally editing her story, "and there I decided I was never going to turn again. I got bigger chains, went far, far away from any people and chained myself to a tree." Suddenly her glare shifted accusingly toward Van Helsing, "you have no idea what its like to try and resist turning. It's painful, its heart wrenching, basically it's to suffer temporary insanity."

"But after a while I got the hang of it. When one of the pack found me, they thought I'd gotten lost," she explained. "He was so happy to have found me. When I told him I'd left," she couldn't suppress a shudder, and she shamefully buried her head in her arms again. "He attacked, I was stronger; but whether out of pity or anger, he scratched me." She sat in silence for a moment, until she lifted her head from her lap again; her face was set and cold this time.

"I don't pretend to understand how turning works when you're a half-Were or when the moon isn't full, or it's hidden, all I know is I can turn, and trust me it is oh so tempting at times," her gaze was contemptuous. "But I don't."

"Then why go out into the forest and chain yourself to a tree?" he asked respectively.

Her gaze was an insult to his intelligence, "for the safety of these people. I won't mess something up and kill all these people. I know there's been another Were around on the full moons, I can sense him. I would have done something myself; but I'd be putting these people in danger. It's easier to stop turning when you're away from other Weres, or you can hear them calling. As long as I'm away from the temptation that is other Weres I am safe though.

Van Helsing nodded, and tossed the key into her lap, before turning and entering into his own room, without a second thought to the Were who could doubtless find her own way out.


	4. The Black and Sable Werewolves

The next day was spent much as the first, searching the village for any signs of a Werewolf. This search however turned up dry, no one else from this village was as careless as Miss Calcavanti had been with her identity, apparently.

Van Helsing was left to wait tonight, and merely see if the Werewolf was going to show up. It was difficult to hide such a secret from such a small town; comparatively Calcavanti had done a fairly adequate job. He was fairly certain this Werewolf wasn't living in the town, which made him an even more dangerous enemy. There were no towns nearby which meant this Were was not here on accident or of a lack of options. It was here on purpose.

Daylight found Van Helsing purchasing silver bullets, knives, and anything he thought could aide him against a Werewolf, night found him waiting patiently like a hawk from the bell tower of the clock in the town square. He had slept in and was well rested for an all-nighter. Clouds dotted the sky sparsely tonight, he smelled rain. This was his last chance to catch the Werewolf without having to wait another month.

Part of him wanted to return home and leave this little town. He was weary from the recent spurs of travel, he wanted to rest. Another part of him knew to return home would be to be sent on another mission. It was conflicting but the deepest side of him wanted to remain. It would be like a miniature vacation, he thought with a satirical smile.

He had to wait only two hours after the moon reached its peak, before a howl was loosed from the depths of the forest. Van Helsing was read in an instant, he swung the crossbow over his shoulder and aimed his gun at the forest's edge, waiting for the Were to enter the city.

At length it did. It wove its way slowly around the edge of the town. It was clearly trying to pick up a straggler; but the people of the town were all safely tucked away. The creature wasn't going to enter any closer towards the center of the town then it had to. Van Helsing descended the stairs to the clock tower and reached the opposite edge of the town, where he lay in wait, until the Were would come meandering along, and would hunt no more.

Rossalyn sat at the edge of her bed. She hadn't the heart or the strength to go into the surrounding forest tonight. She wanted nothing more than for Van Helsing to kill the creature and leave, so things could go back to normal. Ever since relating her story to him she had felt more like a freak than ever. It had sent her back into her past, a sad and challenging time for her. Every time she had tried to sleep she'd had the old nightmares she'd gotten after she'd killed the group of people so many years ago. She was tired, and weak, and confused.

Her ears perked up a bit at about two in the morning. She lifted her head and crossed to a window. A howl was let loose, not far away. She wanted to respond; but after much practice restrained herself. She opened the door and stood on the porch of her home. A light breeze brought a strange scent to her. When she smelled again, sure she was mistaken, the whiff was gone. She could feel the presence of another Were at the edge of her consciousness.

The Were in her wanted to call out to her brother, for she was sure it was a male; but she restrained herself. She could hear the sound of his breath, and the gentle pad of his feet on the ground, despite the fact he was more than a mile away. There was something so familiar about that presence. She grabbed a black cloak from beside the door and set out down the street. Something wasn't right.

After about thirty minutes after arriving he could hear the Were approaching. He was downwind of the thing so he was free to wait until its back was turned to him, before shooting. He'd concealed himself behind some trash bins, and had the gun propped up on a bin, his head turned toward the threat. He had a six shooter with a silver bullet in each chamber. He was ready.

When the Were came into view it paused for a moment. Van Helsing appraised it. It was about eight feet on its back legs, six on all fours. It was definitely a male, jet black fur, which was ruffled and coarse. It had several scars all over its body, which meant it was a pack animal, or had been at some point.

It was covered in thick corded muscle, mostly on the torso and thighs. The eyes were shinning blue in the moonlight, and the teeth weren't yet stained with red.

The Were seemed to sense something was amiss and was hesitating. 'Come on' Van Helsing mouthed, hardly daring to breathe. In an instant the wind shifted. The Were launched itself at the pile of bins; and Van Helsing cursed their animal instincts.

He launched a shot in the scuffle at what he hoped was the Werewolf which instantly turned away, and ran. It turned a corner headed into the middle of the city before Van Helsing disentangled himself. A stupid move to head into the city, but with plenty of turns, it would give it plenty of cover.

Van Helsing sprinted forward, listening for the creatures heaving breath. He followed a set of tracks from a puddle until he caught sight of it as it whipped around another corner. Ahead was a straightaway, Van Helsing fired another shot; but missed. Two down four to go.

The race through the catacomb like city went on for almost fifteen minutes. Van Helsing had loosed a fourth shot, and hit the creature on the arm, a graze really, not deadly, but the stupid creature turned for revenge.

Van Helsing loosed a fifth shot which the creature swerved to miss but caught in the leg. Van Helsing leapt to avoid the creature which ran headlong into a building. Van Helsing couldn't help wincing.

The creature turned to face him, "laugh all you want, I can miss several times, I only have to hit you once." The creature's voice was low and guttural, much like a wolf's growl. Van Helsing had never heard of a Were that could speak, this was not the simple standard mission he had assumed it would be.

Van Helsing raised the barrel of the gun, not letting his surprise show, "I know what you mean." The creature turned to run; but was hit by a bullet to the shoulder. Van Helsing waited a moment, if all of the wounds he had given the creature were lethal it was going to show in the next moment, or it wouldn't have been enough.

Slowly the Were turned to face him. "Six down, one," his eyes gleamed at Van Helsing, "to go."

Van Helsing shrugged noncommittally, "Damn it." He pulled out the six inch hunting knife, and put it into his hand. "Looks like we do this the old fashioned way."

What could only be taken as a laugh issued from the creature's throat; but the creature hadn't spotted the cloud that would shortly veil the moon. Van Helsing hoped he could hold him off until then.

As the creature was about to launch himself at Van Helsing a woman's voice issued from an alleyway.

"Everard no!!" the voice was hoarse and high pitched; Rossalyn Calcavanti came out from the darkness, from in between the two. "Everard what are you doing here?!" she snapped threateningly.

"Cavanti get back inside," Rossalyn was too personal, her full last name was too long so he settled on Cavanti.

"Oh shut up!" she snapped throwing a hateful glare at him. "Everard what are you doing here?"

Another laugh, she held her ground with a look of pure venom at the Werewolf, "Oh look my little sister the infidel."

"I am not your sister and I am not an infidel!!" she yelled at him, throwing off her cloak in anger.

Another laugh and the Werewolf turned into its human form. Van Helsing looked up, the moon was still shinning. Werewolves were learning new tricks apparently.

The man that stood before them was strong and fit. He had a broad chest, and similar features to Calcavanti. His hair was short and black; his face was thin and harsh. His eyes were like pale sapphires and terrifying. His face was shinning with hatred. When he spoke his voice was much the human parallel to its Werewolf voice.

"But you are a coward and a deserter!" he accused.

"No! I refused to hurt more innocent people, Everard! I am neither of what you've said! What are you doing here?" she asked again, clear hatred in her own eyes.

"I am here to frame the Werewolf who should have been killed years ago! If not by me than by humans and I will be satisfied. his voice was the ultimate furry. Van Helsing couldn't help watching the drama between these two.

"So that's it!? You can't kill me, so you will load the gun and leave it where others can find it?"

"And I hope you get a bullet to the heart Rossalyn!" he started trying to turn and got about halfway through the process, before the moon was totally covered by clouds.

"Yes, but you're on my playing field now," Van Helsing said before throwing himself at Everard. The struggle was difficult; Van Helsing and Everard were both strong. Everard had a hand on the dagger and the two were rolling on the ground both trying to get on top of the struggle.

Calcavanti was silent, watching the transpirings with a look of cold anger on her face. When Van Helsing finally freed his arm from Everard's grip, he lifted the dagger ready to plunge it when the moonlight seeped back into the scene. The man smiled and started to turn, and with the strength of his turned form he threw Van Helsing off of him, right into a wall.

Van Helsing dropped the dagger and saw lights popping in front of his face. The impact probably would have put other men out cold. He tried to grab the knife; but he could barely stay conscious.

The fully turned Were laughed, "Is this the human you left your pack for? I hope it was worth it Rossalyn."

Everard started at Van Helsing. The next moment was utter confusion as Calcavanti cried out, "Everard NO!" The confusion started with her voice, while it began out as her usual voice, it changed halfway through, a much higher pitch, which reminded Van Helsing of a wolf's howl.

The next moments he heard a struggle. He turned his head fighting to stay awake. The black Werewolf now had a sable female on top of him and he was trying to throw her off.

Van Helsing quickly realized it was Calcavanti. The Werewolf was sable and silvery, it was clearly a female. The females were slightly taller and longer; but slimmer and less muscled. He recognized the green eyes on its face, and the look of stubborn pride.

The black Werewolf lashed violently trying to throw off the female, which was digging her claws and teeth into his back. Finally he twisted fiercely and she was thrown off into a wall. A quick shake of her head and she was on her feet, a warning growl growing on her face.

Everard gave the look right back. The two started at each other at the same time and collided in a moment of clawing and snarling, balancing delicately on their hind legs. It was all Van Helsing could do to look on. Both were severely scratched and bitten, when Calcavanti pushed him over and landed on top. Her jaw went instantly for his throat, the final killing stroke, when he twisted from under her with a yelp and started running through the city towards the forest.

The Werewolf that was Calcavanti tottered dangerously her breath heaving. The Were's legs were trembling, and she was bleeding in many places, deep wounds from Everard's teeth, more shallow and longer cuts from claws. The beautiful silver fur was stained with crimson; but despite it all the creature lifted its head triumphantly and howled a victory through the skies.

Van Helsing tried to rise to his feet and grunted with the effort. The Were's eyes turned to him, for a moment Van Helsing wanted to dive for the blade. But with a look of hurt, as though it had guessed his intentions she lowered her head shamefully and started running the same way as Everard.

After a moment the moon's light was shadowed again, by a cloud, one big enough to ensure that he would see no more Weres that night.

Van Helsing's hard expression slackened. A Werewolf might be able to stand the cuts and bruises from the fight, but if they transferred to her human form, Calcavanti wouldn't last the hour. He was torn for a moment, all the logic in him screamed out, _she's a Were, she could have killed someone; she said she didn't even turn._ But all of it was drown out as a small guilty voice that whispered, _but she turned to save me._

Something was owed so shrugging off the pain reminding himself of more serious injuries he had acquired he grabbed the silver dagger and tromped off through the city.

She had barely made it past the forest's edge when she had turned back. She was barely conscious, her back against a tree. Her head was buried in her lap again, her arms wrapping her knees against her chest. This time the sobs were loud and wet, as the rain started to pour down.

He stepped toward her beaten and bloodied form and unlike usual she didn't seem to hear him. He got right up next to her and bent to his knees, setting a surprisingly gentle hand to her shoulder. Her head shot up, and she didn't have to squint in the near darkness to see his face.

The tear tracks running down her cheeks melted his heart a little. Her eyes were overrun with sadness, but her skin tone wasn't blotchy and red it remained as pale as ever. Even upon recognizing him she buried her head back into her lap sobbing hard.

"Hey, things aren't as bad as they seem now," Van Helsing tried to comfort her.

"Van Helsing you have no idea, what's just happened," her voice was hoarse and rough.

"If it's about what's-his-name-"

"It's not!" she snapped. "Don't you understand? It took me almost six years before I could stop myself from turning! Another three before I could do it without injuring myself! Nine years Helsing! And now, I've just broken nine years worth of effort, and crying, and screaming, and wanting to kill myself, nine years!" She yelled the last part like she could change it if she screamed loud enough.

Van Helsing couldn't describe the pity that welled up inside him, tied partially to the guilt, that she had done it and saved his life.

"Van Helsing I need you to do something for me," she stopped sobbing and sounded resolute and finite. "I want you to take that dagger and put it through my heart." Her face was clear and determined, not afraid or anything to that effect.

Van Helsing reacted on instinct, "no!" He was incredulous, though part of what she asked made sense.

"Van Helsing, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from turning, I'd rather die then kill innocent people again."

"I'm not going to kill you!" he promised.

Now she looked fearful, "don't you understand?! I can't do it!" Her face was filled with fear, "I can't do that again I'm not strong enough! Gabriel do this thing for me, I beg of you!"

He flinched at the sound of the name, "no." It was his final response.

She buried her head in her lap. "If you won't do it then I will!" she yelled, she tried to grab the dagger from Van Helsing but he held it out of her reach.

"Calcavanti!" she continued to grab for it, "Rossalyn!!!" he snapped. She stopped, sobbing into her knees. "Look at me Rossalyn!" he ordered. She glanced up, "in thirty days to this hour if you still want me to do what you ask I will! But you have to swear to me that before then you won't try and take your own life."

She looked at him afraid and confused. "I-" she stuttered.

"Rossalyn, what you did back then you did so you could save people. What you did tonight you did for the same reason I'm willing to bet that's enough. I don't think you'll turn." She shivered, the whole time they'd spoken rain had been falling unobserved by either of them, and she was soaked. While Van Helsing was wearing a leather jacket and was reasonably dry.

"Swear to me you won't take your own life and in thirty days if you still want it, I'll do what you ask," it was a flat out lie. No matter what she did, Van Helsing knew a good person from an evil one.

"You promise me?" she asked.

_NO!_ "If you will me," he answered.

"Fine," she resigned after a moment. He nodded only hoping she was being more sincere than he was.


	5. The Truth

"C'mon lets get you home," he put her arm around his shoulder. She couldn't carry any of her own weight; but Van Helsing was fully recovered and was willing to carry her. A few muttered directions from her and he led her home.

It was small but cozy, a nice little place, with interesting little knickknacks all over. A bedroom, a sitting room, a kitchen, and another bedroom which was used as a small library to house dozens and dozens of books, composed the entire house.

He cleaned up her cuts and put her in bed while she faded in and out of consciousness.

The next morning Rossalyn woke up around noon. She was unbelievably sore and groaned at the effort it took to sit up. Van Helsing entered the room.

"You stayed all night?" she asked sounding confused.

He caught the look on her face, she was embarrassed and puzzled. For a moment he pondered why that might be so until he arrived at the conclusion, she had never had someone to stay the night and make sure she would be safe.

He nodded quietly, "good library in there." He had spent most the night reading in between going quietly into her room to check her injuries and make sure she was still alive. He quietly checked the more serious injuries she'd sustained.

"You didn't have to stay I would have been fine," she sounded slightly embarrassed.

He laughed humorlessly, removing a bandage. "You saved my life last night Rossalyn. I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay."

"I think that might be the first time you've called me Rossalyn," she said curiously. "Half Weres heal quickly," she muttered embarrassed, as he squinted at her almost completely healed wound. "Thank you; but don't just hang around because you owe me. I'm sick of people doing that."

Van Helsing looked up at her, "maybe it's not just because I owe you." He gave her one of his rare smiles. She smiled back, slowly but surely. "You gonna be okay?" he asked quickly.

She nodded, "I'll be fine. Hungry?" she asked. Before he could object she leapt out of bed, and started toward the kitchen, tearing off bandages as she went.

She made breakfast; but the moment wasn't as awkward as Van Helsing had feared it might be. Something about saving each others lives had made conversation more comfortable, thrown some trust somewhere in the twisted emotions of the two.

She made some eggs and some sort of greasy meat, which was good enough for Van Helsing. She had watched him a little as she'd cooked. She'd never looked at him without his hat and heavy leather trench coat.

He was very tall, muscled, thicker set, sculpted, and had scars running up and down his arms. His hair was long and dark brown, slightly wavy, and his eyes were like amber.

She handed him a plate he ate from looking like he hadn't eaten properly in a month. She cleaned up the kitchen nibbling slightly on the leftovers.

"So are you going to stay until the next full moon?" she asked at one point.

He swallowed. "I have to don't I? Unless you've got reason to believe Everard didn't survive."

"No, he's persistent, he'll be back; but Everard is my problem, you should go home." It wasn't disrespectful; she emphasized the last word, like that was all she needed to say.

"Home is over rated. Besides we're in this together," he said, not to be put off that easily. She smiled over at him.

"So you, the great Gabriel Van Helsing, are stuck in our little town for twenty nine days. Whatever will you do to pass the time?" she asked playfully.

"I have a feeling you will be kicking me out of your library at night, and feeding me during the day," he called back just as playfully.

"Well that's not very interesting," she smiled.

"I know, it's great!"

A quick friendship blossomed between the two. Rossalyn quit her job at the bar, saying only that she had enough money, and the job was merely to distract her.

Rossalyn was eager to share her experiences about the pack life of a Werewolf to Van Helsing who was just as eager to learn about it. She in turn was enthralled by his stories about his escapades, listening and asking questions at just the right times. Though both were quiet people and could appreciate friendly silence at the same time.

They spent most of the days of Van Helsing's imprisonment, as they called it, together; learning, listening, and laughing.

Van Helsing had been right about her. An ounce of force did nothing to make her less stubborn, it was only a challenge she would readily answer, a smile and a caring word usually did more to make her open. She could when opportunity struck her, he thought, be almost sweet.

On one evening in particular they had both been caught up in the stories of her library, when Van Helsing had asked her about the abilities she and Everard and this new generation of Werewolves had.

She told him that Everard was what was called a Half-Were like her. The child of two humans of Were kind.

Half Weres had many abilities, the abilities most Weres only had when they were fully turned, at all times. Such as heightened senses, they were stronger than most unturned Weres, and she had revealed the next part with a shudder.

"As long as the moon is visible, even if it's during the day, Half Weres can force themselves into a sort of half turned state. That's the state Everard was in when he scratched me," she unconsciously drew gentle fingers down her cheek, tracing the line of the red scar.

"Everard was the one that scratched you?" Van Helsing asked, some anger boiling inside him.

She nodded, as though it didn't bother her much.

"What really happened to you two?" he found himself asking. "Why did he call you his little sister that night, and say those things?" When he'd posed the questions to himself he felt as if he were treading on a past she clearly wanted to keep hidden.

She looked over at him, her face open, as though trying to decide if she wanted to tell him. Apparently he won over her uncertainties, "When I ran away from the pack, it wasn't because I'd gotten lost. I'd hit my head on a rock, and the pack had gone on without me, not realizing I was missing.

"When I woke up someone had found me, stayed to make sure I was okay. His name was Michael. He was the best friend I ever had. When I told him what I was he wasn't afraid of me. He encouraged me that I was doing the right thing trying not to turn. One night I killed another person. At that point I was frantic trying to stop turning, I was losing hope though. I vowed if I couldn't stop myself turning the next time, I was going to kill myself rather than hurt more people."

Van Helsing listened intently; he heard the truth echoing in her words, everything about the story ringing true with what he knew about her.

"That night I was about to give up, I didn't think I could do it. I had resigned myself to one final turn. Michael came running in when I was about to turn. I told him to go back, that I was dangerous; but he didn't listen," she put on a sad smile. "He stayed with me, told me if I wanted to be noble and save his life I couldn't let myself turn. I had to fight to save myself as hard as he knew I would fight to save him. He stayed with me the whole night. That was the first time I didn't turn.

"After that things only got better. A few years later it hardly bothered me on full moons. He really made the difference in my life. Soon after that though, Everard found me. He thought I'd gotten lost from the pack, he was so happy to see me." Her smile was cold and empty. "When I tried to explain to him, why I couldn't do it anymore he got so angry.

"When we were younger, we got picked on a little because we were different, well me mostly, Everard was bigger and stronger. So he told people he was my sister for a while, to protect me, sure enough people backed off. We were a pack and a family for a while, friends for a long time, more than friends for a short while," her form of blushing was getting a slightly red tinge to her pale cheeks.

"When he found out I left, he said if I'd done something dishonorable as long as I fought back I should have my right to live; but what I'd done was too disgraceful to let me live. He tried to kill me," Van Helsing's blood ran cold, his anger towards Everard growing.

"He was always stronger, but Michael had taught me a lot. I won, I could have killed him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I let him live, he couldn't do anything after that. Honor is everything to a Wolf pack," she repeated like she had so many times before.

"He owed me his life and so he couldn't kill me. So he rooted out Michael, just to spire me. He could smell him on me, and he hunted him down. I barely got there in time. I saved Michael and swore if I ever saw Everard go near him again, I would finish the job I started. Out of anger, he clawed at me forgetting the debt he owed me. That's where I got the scar," she traced the lines again, "after he forced himself into the Half Were state."

"And so he's back?" Van Helsing asked.

She came out of her contemplative state. "He hates me for what I did; he can't understand why I did it. He's determined to kill me, the fact he can't do it himself only makes it a game to him. Next time I won't hesitate, I'm bringing him down." Her face was resolved.

"What happened to Michael?" Van Helsing asked at length.

She smiled again, "got married, had a few kids, died of old age." She seemed at peace with the matter that left Van Helsing wondering how old she was. She had told him she had no idea what the life span of a Half Were was.

She laughed, "Old enough to look back at my past realize I don't remember most of it, or want to, young enough to not have any immediate concerns for the future." She always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking about.

"How about a number?" he asked with a smile.

"You first," she said a grin on her face.

"I don't know," he responded truthfully.

"Old, but not anywhere near past my prime," she smiled, he rolled his eyes.

"My goodness women and fixing a number!" he laughed. She stuck his tongue out at him, setting aside her book. "Not very mature I see!"

"Well that subject aside, I want to keep a lookout tomorrow night, it's the quarter moon. Everard might Half Turn and hurt someone, and I can't let that happen."

"Alright I'll come with you," Van Helsing agreed quickly.

"Than this should be fun, he probably won't show up, but if he gets in that forest I'll be able to smell him three miles off."

Van Helsing smiled, her quirks didn't bother him. He had many of his own; hers just leveled the playing field.

"Alright," he stood, grabbing his things; and left for his temporary home.

Part of him was ill at ease with this friendship, he was starting to love Rossalyn like a sister, but he moved around a lot, people weren't around him long enough to make friends and usually that was the way he liked it. A part of him was already bracing for the inevitable blow he knew leaving was going to cause him. Thing about family and friends, it just made it hurt that much more when you had to leave.


	6. Confused Emotions

Here's your warning I have a huge crush on Hugh Jackman and this is where my story gets romantic cheesy. Nothing gross, I think it's kind of cute :D

The next night the two set up a camp fire in the woods. Van Helsing had used his influence to tell the mayor that everyone needed to stay inside tonight. Rossalyn had reaffirmed she didn't think that Everard would show up, but she didn't want to take chances. But she promised that if Everard did enter the woods and get near the town, she would know.

They picked a small clearing downwind of the small town, both ready to pull an all-nighter. She had tried to explain how it was easier to affirm a Werewolves presence when she was outside and failed miserably, while Van Helsing chuckled at her. Quote on quote 'It just does okay!?! Impossible man!'

They talked softly, about different things, all the while watching the stars. It was clear skies that night and a strong quarter moon gave enough light to see by.

Rossalyn shuddered violently despite the warm evening air. "You okay?" Van Helsing asked. She nodded a curious look on her face.

"You sure? You've been kind of out of it the whole night," he reported.

"Yeah something just feels kind of weird," she said still with a questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean, is he…" Rossalyn cut him off as he made a grab for his crossbow.

"No. I just feel weird." She rose, "I'm gonna go take a walk, clear my head."

Van Helsing shrugged, "okay, stay close."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," she whispered with a grin on her face.

It had been about an hour since Rossalyn had left, Van Helsing was starting to get worried. Despite every instinct which promised, _she'd know if Everard was close, she can hold her own against him anyways, you could hear their fighting a mile away._ One outweighed them all her voice whispering, 'Everard tried to kill me'. He was staring at the fire, a little tired, watching the sparks fly off of the logs. He had just decided to go look for her when, he felt something dragging at his face.

He whipped around, she was back, dragging the red chiffon tie from her shirt across his face.

He was a little irritated, "don't sneak up on me like that, you're liable to get a dagger put through you."

"My apologies, you look so peaceful when you're sleeping." There was a strange note in her voice, a mysterious distant note, he rolled his eyes and stood, trying to walk out the kink in his neck.

"Where'd you go? I was about to come look for you," he tried not to sound as irritated as he felt.

"Couldn't help myself, the moon was so beautiful looking," she was almost prancing through the trees, walking on her toes, with an unmatched grace.

"Don't do it again, I don't want Everard catching up with you when I'm not around," he called over his shoulder; he was starting to get that strange feeling that something wasn't quite right.

She had snuck up right behind him, with her quiet ease, and he could feel the touch of her body against his, front to back. She whispered right into his ear her cheek so close to his. "Why Van Helsing, you do sound almost, dare I say it, worried," there was a playfully note in her voice. She danced away before he could reprimand her. He turned and stared after her in both confusion and annoyance.

"Rossalyn what's going on?" he asked with a hard perseverance in his tone.

She twirled underneath the moon starring up at it before turning to respond.

"Do have any idea how wonderful you smell?" she asked, with a brazen and shameless expression. There was something in her eyes, an excitement to replace the stoic feelings usually reflected there. Van Helsing had never been more confused.

She approached him directly, crossing her step one over the other as she approached. "I mean it, do you know how magnificent you smell?" she asked again, in all seriousness.

No response, besides a queer look. She threw herself against him, her back to his front, leaning against him. "It's like old leather, something industrial I can't put my finger on, the outdoors, all of it that ever has been, is, or will be, all rolled up into a single entity. But there is something else. Something I couldn't begin to describe."

Van Helsing was completely silent, unsure how to respond to her advances.

She turned around, so the fronts of their bodies touched. "It all sounds so impoetic when you put it into words." She gave him an appraising stare, which he diffused with a stoic and hard look. They were close enough he could see how pale and translucent her scar looked with the moonlight bouncing off her white skin.

"Do you get lonely doing what you do?" she asked soberly. "I mean, you must, never in one place long enough to do anything besides hunt whatever's there." A silence, how could she know that? "That's okay, I'm lonely too." She reached up one hand on his cheek, so gentle and pressed her lips against his. Ignoring the caution inside of himself as he had been every time he was around her, he kissed back.

Each kiss was longer and deeper than the last, like a draught of something hot on a cold night. And he could only respond, a hand slipping around her waist.

Some part of him knew this wasn't Rossalyn; that something wasn't right, but as each second passed he heard less and less of it.

Wherever their skin touched he could feel the heat of her body, against the slight chill of his own. Her lips were soft and delicate against his, and her skin was like velvet. Her hand on his cheek and the back of his head, pulling him even closer, while everything faded away, and his breath came a little raggedly.

His mind slowly stopped racing. Like his body was succumbing to something his mind was immune but slowly yielding to. Some rational part of him reached unconsciously for the dagger at his waist. But her hand met his, and wrapped around his clutch on the dagger, making even his hand quiver at her touch. She broke apart from him, her body still pressing against his, her eyebrows raised.

"Who are you and where's Rossalyn?" he asked, sounding surer than he felt, feeling a heat he knew had nothing to do with the cool evening air. His heart was pounding in his chest, but none of it reflected in the hard stare he gave her.

"Don't be so dramatic, I am Rossalyn," she assured him, her voice alluring. She dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm just finally going after what I want." With her grasp still on his hold of the dagger, she pushed her lips against his again.

The brief respite was enough for him to gather some of his senses. He grabbed the knock out gas from his pocket, and broke away from her; before he wasn't sure he'd be able to. It was long enough to spray a puff in her face. Almost instantly she fell limp into his arms.

Whether he had done what he did to stop her because the work minded part of him needed to or because the more emotional part of him he wanted to, he wasn't sure. He set her against a tree, and for good measure, used a rope to loosely tie her there.

He took his place across the fire again, shaking his head trying to get the sound of her voice out of his mind, 'do you get lonely...That's okay, I'm lonely too', the feel of her skin against his.

He knew he hated the remark because it rang so true with him. He hated to use the word lonely, it sounded so pathetic. But it wasn't always exciting never getting to see an old face for long. For a moment his thoughts turned to Anna, he had been in love with her, he was sure of that. He felt guilt threaten to swallow him, so he thrust away his thoughts of her as he was so used to doing.

There had been women. He was human after all; there had been a few, nothing serious. He didn't even think he could recall their names, just nameless faces. Each one was an attempt to fill something inside him, never really reaching deep enough. Each doing less than the previous until the part of him that wanted someone just sort of faded.

He felt slightly betrayed by what Rossalyn had done, he was struggling enough with his own feelings, and the ease with her they had built up the past few days had disappeared. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about her anymore. Part of him was entirely angry and infuriated at her for throwing that at him, but part of him knew he had kissed her back.

He sat across from the fire listening for any threat, all the while whittling away at his own feelings, which sat in a confused mess. Trying to affirm to himself that at any rate Rossalyn didn't get to know he was feeling, telling himself that he had to be strong through everything.

If he could handle Werewolves, Vampires, and Spirits, then a girl who went through emotions faster than a horse at a derby, wouldn't be much of a problem. Whatever he was feeling, Rossalyn didn't need to know.

At length the knock out gas wore off, and Rossalyn woke up. He didn't look at her, trying to contain the angry part of himself. Her cheeks went from pale to scarlet so fast; he had never seen her blush so deeply. She remained at silent as he was. Eventually she spoke, "will you hand me a large rock," the embarrassment was reflected even in her voice.

Van Helsing finally looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "I'd like to beat myself unconscious with it, now." His expression softened the slightest bit. He stood and loosened the knot of the rope tying her to the tree, partly because that meant he didn't have to look at her.

"Can I explain?" she asked after a moment.

"What's to explain?" he asked. He had been afraid they might have to have this little heart to heart.

"Van Helsing, you know…" she stuttered, "You know that wasn't me," she cleared her throat, "back then-I mean it was-but," she stopped stammering. "Van Helsing this has happened to me as long as I can remember!"

"You've been jumping unsuspecting men as long as you can remember?" he asked, as he finished untying the knot.

"No!" she snapped. He felt a little bad, but justified, that had been a low blow. "Van Helsing, it's not always like that. Everard experiences it too; it's part of being a Half Were."

"What is?" he asked, just to keep her talking, so he didn't have to sit in awkward silence.

"That!" She sulked, "You make things so difficult sometimes!" she accused.

"_I_ make things difficult!?!" he snapped.

"Yes, you!" she huffed. She sighed forcefully. "As a Half Were we're connected to the moon in certain ways, Weres usually only experience when they have fully turned. Sometimes when the moon is full or at an important stage," she hesitated again. "It just toys with my emotions." She was losing the angry tone in her voice and was going back to shame and embarrassment. "I lose track of who I am, I lower my guard, and I can't keep a hold on myself. I am truly sorry," she sounded genuine but Van Helsing, didn't think he had forgiven her. His mouth felt dry and he said nothing.

"I'm sorry I really am!!" she shouted, finally turning to look at him. "I can't control myself when I get like that. You know what it's like when you turn into a full Were, I experience those feelings all the time, try to sympathize with me!" she urged, Van Helsing's face slackened, how did she know that he had turned into a Werewolf before?

"How did you know that?" he snapped.

"I told you, I can sense the presence of other Weres." At his panicked expression she elaborated. "You're not like normal Weres, there's just something lingering from whatever happened to you. I can sort of tell you've turned before. At any rate you know how it makes you feel!"

He did, he thought back to Dracula, and the night Anna had died. When he had turned into a Werewolf the feeling had been indescribable. He had felt powerful, and strong, and agile. Everything about the moment was pure ecstasy. Things smelled differently, and felt better, and sounded more intricate. It was an amazing high, he had thought back often to the moment.

A voice of mercy whispered, _it would be confusing to feel that way all the time when you weren't prepared for it to come_.

"I truly am sorry!" she said looking at him right in the eyes, a look of pleading on her face. There was no mistaking it, she was begging forgiveness.

Van Helsing sighed softly, "I forgive you."

She seemed only slightly appeased, "thank you." She knew he didn't mean it.


	7. The Full Moon

They stayed the rest of the night to make sure Everard didn't return, neither speaking; but with no sign of him. Van Helsing was set back to waiting for the full moon when, Rossalyn assured him, he would come.

Things between them were awkward and forced. She was clearly ready to go back to the way things had been Van Helsing was the one who wasn't quite ready to return the sentiment. He didn't call on her anymore, though he couldn't help himself going to check on her during some evenings, Everard's threats still fresh in his mind.

It wasn't that he didn't care about her anymore. He still loved her like she was his sister, but emotions other than that were running through his mind, and he was too confused to try and sort them out. Some part of him, while acknowledging it wasn't her fault, wasn't ready to forgive her springing that on him. Even more appealing, as long as he was angry, he didn't have to sort through how he felt about her.

Rossalyn at the same time had rarely been more depressed. She knew he had been coming to check on her, smelling him, and sensing his presence. But she didn't reveal that she knew. She held his scent close to her, praying it meant he still cared about her, and wasn't just searching for Everard. She was angry at herself and rarely slept.

She had never trusted or felt anything like the people in the town, thinking herself an outcast from them. Rossalyn had trusted few people in her long life, besides her pack, only Michael and Van Helsing.

After being able to reveal so much to him, and having him left now only made her feel more separated and alone then ever before. She thought of Michael often. He had been the closest friend and brother to her she had ever had. Something about his trusting happy nature had drawn her to him. Now when she needed him to tell her she wasn't alone more than ever, she regretted his death deeply.

What she hadn't revealed is that the emotion she experienced on those nights of important phases of the moon was whatever emotion she had been repressing lately.

She had been through: anger quickly turned into rage, happiness turned into ecstasy, fear turned into paranoia, sadness turned into despair; but she had never experienced anything like what had happened that night. This left her in a state of tangled emotions worse than Van Helsing's. She found herself wondering and trying to decipher what she truly felt, though none of it helped.

Many times she considered leaving the town. Leaving, knowing Everard would follow her. She weighed the outcome of leaving a letter for Van Helsing, promising she would destroy Everard before he hurt someone. But after spending so much time with him, she knew he would follow her, and finish the job he started. She feared he would think of it as an irritable act of drama, and through demeaning herself in his eyes, she ignored the thought.

She was ready to wait, wait until Van Helsing destroyed Everard, and left.

One night she got to her knees, and prayed, unaware Van Helsing was outside. She had prayed many times in her long life, usually on those nights where she had been fighting not to turn, she fell to her knees sobbing into her bed.

"God let me forget him! Let this end, let Everard disappear I don't want him to die, and let Van Helsing leave this place. And God let me forget him. Remember every time I did what I thought was right. Forsake it all and simply let me forget him! I thought another Michael had stepped into my life, someone I could confide in, but God don't let my mistake hurt me this much!" She begged.

Van Helsing felt guilty, she clearly wanted only for him to leave, and recently he had prayed for much the same thing. "God willing grant her prayer," was all he whispered softly before turning and leaving.

The night of the full moon was quickly approaching and Van Helsing was ready for the awkwardness between them to end.

The next day he found a letter from her, placed at his door.

Dear Van Helsing,

I release you from your promise you made to me several weeks ago, that you would kill me if I asked you to in thirty days. I remain ever-sorry for what I did, and would take it back at any cost. God grant you speed and strength, for your confrontation with Everard. Don't underestimate him but I have known you both, and know that you are stronger.

God Watch Over You and Goodbye

Your Ever Present Friend,

Rossalyn Michele Calcavanti

The guilt inside him was still strong; but he ignored it and tried to convince himself, it was just one less thing on his mind.

More time passed. Every morning and evening Rossalyn got her knees and prayed to a God she wasn't sure existed. Begging him to deliver Van Helsing and spare his life, and to spare her her own grief. All the while fearing the approaching full moon where she knew she must find a way to resist the call of the Werewolves or die trying.

Van Helsing found himself wishing more and more each day, that the full moon would come and he could finish his duty and leave. Leave his own frustrated feelings, and leave in peace the woman whom he wasn't sure how to refer to anymore.

Finally the first night of the three day cycle of the full moon arrived. A notice was put up that everyone should stay inside which no one, besides a woman with chains under her cloak, disobeyed. She left early, unable to stand the fear the lowering sun struck into her heart. She could already feel his glance upon her from the clock tower, but she ignored it, tonight this was going to end….one way or another.

Van Helsing watched as she, a lone figure, moving through the town, crossed into the surrounding forest, and he whispered a quick prayer, begging God to spare her life.

Time passed slowly as Van Helsing waited for Everard, so much slower than usual, his thoughts all with Rossalyn. Every time he tried to divert them it all came back to a feeling of unease and constant thoughts of worry for her. He could hear her, "basically it's to suffer temporary insanity." Every now and again he heard cries of pain coming from the section of the forest she had disappeared into, which he knew he was imagining.

His thoughts returned to her for the seventh time he threw his hands up in the air, and shouted at the ceiling, "what am I supposed to do?!" The answer came into his mind as a finite revolution; he had to go make sure she was okay.

Rossalyn was curled up in a heap, she wanted to keep her hands on her sides which felt like they were about to split open in pain; but they were pulled away by the chains. God why wouldn't it just end? It wasn't going to; she had several hours more until dawn. The resilient strong part of her wanted to yell that she couldn't make it; but that part was almost silent now.

The pain was horrifying; her head felt every migraine that had ever existed was trying to crush her. She couldn't have walked if she had wanted to; every muscle in her body was rigid. Pain unlike anything ever felt was coursing through her, expanding the seconds until the stitches of time were bursting, ready to explode trying to contain the eons of pain all shoved into each moment.

The tears were already streaking down her face, unbidden, no sobbing, just filling her eyes to be forcefully blinked away. Her skin felt so hot, like it would smother her out, like a fever was just a gentle heat. She wanted to dig her fingers into her skin, but resisted; she knew it wouldn't ebb the pain for a moment.

She was writhing on the ground trying not to burst into her Were form, she could feel the tug of the moon, she could hear the call of every Werewolf in a fifty mile radius, all calling out to be joined. Every call was like a needle stabbing into where she couldn't wrench it out. She had already wretched the contents of her stomach several times.

Her resistance was ebbing. She wasn't sure she would last the next five minutes, simple thoughts that she had the whole night to wait were torture. "I can't do it," she croaked. She tried to wrench her body free, but the chains bound her to the stupid tree, she knew once turned she could pull out of the ground.

The cool metal of the chains had long ceased to remain cold, and were now burning her skin. Like a fevered night when you can't find a spot of cold in the sheets.

The pain hadn't been this bad in nine years. The realization was real to her, _I can't make it. If I turn now, it will be my last, so I better make it worth it_. She reached for a moment to stop fighting when a voice rang out, "Rossalyn?"

She immediately threw up her defenses. Who was it? For a moment she feared it was Everard come to finish the job; but Van Helsing emerged from the underbrush and hurried to her side.

He had never seen her look like this, sweat mixed with tears were all coursing down her cheeks, sweat covering her bare skin wherever it was exposed, covered with dirt sticking to it. Her hair was tangled and dirty. Her face was in an expression of anguish, and she was curled up writhing on the ground.

He jumped to her side and pulled her body against his, strong hands on her upper arms. Her back was to his front so she could still coil up, and tremble slightly.

The cool of his body against hers was a moment of bliss in the heat she felt, she used the respite however small to whisper, "Go back Van Helsing. I won't hurt you too."

"If you don't want to hurt me than keep fighting," he whispered in what he hoped was an assuring voice. "You're stronger than this, you always have been. You've beaten this time and time again; this is just one more night." He whispered soothingly into her ear.

"I can't do it," she sobbed brokenly.

"Yes you can, I want you to just listen to my voice. Don't focus on surviving the night, just this moment. I know you can do this. Just fight as hard to save yourself, as you would to save me."

She nodded disconnectedly.

He put an arm across her chest, where he held her shoulder tightly, pulling her against him and a surprisingly gentle hand on her forehead, stroking her hair and cheek, whispering words of assurance into her ear, when she started trembling too hard.

"I'm sorry," she said her voice shaking. "Sorry for what I did."

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault," he whispered back.

He sat like that all night, any thoughts of Everard banished from his mind. Sure even after, that that was where he needed to be. Any thoughts of discomfort were immediately overshadowed by what he couldn't imagine Rossalyn was feeling.

She trembled all night until dawn, when the sun broke over the hills, and she let out a giant wheeze, trying to return her breathing to normal.

Van Helsing rubbed her arms, where he had had to restrain her a few times. She turned and buried her face into his jacket, wrapping her arms around his neck sputtering, "thank you, thank you." He pulled his arms around her back and held her against him, shushing her gently, an unconscious hand stroking her hair.

He pulled her home quickly, before the other villagers began to wake. He laid her in her bed, warning her if she didn't sleep he would come back with the knock out gas. Before he himself fell onto the little couch in the other room, and dozed off into a light sleep.

She slept until three o'clock in the afternoon, when she woke he wasn't there. For a moment she wondered if it had been a dream until she saw her sweat stained and dirty clothes. She cleaned herself, put on some clean clothes, and ate with the vivacity of Van Helsing when she cooked.

All the while mentally preparing herself for that night, where she had to face it again. Soon afterwards there were steps at the door, it made her start when it was opened; but the familiar figure of Van Helsing quieted her fears.

"Sorry, I thought you might still be sleeping," he said at her alarm. Without a word she crossed the room and wrapped him in an embrace, which he politely returned.

"Thank you for what you did last night," she told him in all seriousness. "You saved my life."

"Then we're even," he smiled. "I can't stay long; I have to get going soon."

"I understand," she smiled faintly.

"I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay tonight."

Rossalyn understood immediately. "The first time's the hardest. Now I know I _can_ do it. Don't worry about me."

"Are you sure, I can wait until tomorrow night to go after Everard."

"No! I've been enough of a hindrance! I want you to go and kill him. This needs to end." He nodded, painfully aware of how close they were.

"Okay, I've got to go." Neither seemed quite sure what parting gesture to use, until Rossalyn leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, with what she hoped wasn't too overbearing.

Van Helsing smiled and left.


	8. Things are Clear

Later, in the evening he returned. He walked with her to the clearing, where she waited until he had left to put the chains around the tree and shackle her arms and legs.

Her face was set, and he recognized the determination in her.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded determinedly. "Gabriel?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"What happened to you? How were you scratched by a Werewolf, and turned then," she struggled for a phrase, "and then left unchanged?"

Van Helsing looked out across the sky. "It's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it someday," she said compassionately.

"You will," he promised, "someday," he whispered.

Van Helsing walked back through the forest, unwanted thoughts going through his mind. Then he took his place in the clock tower and sat down to wait, and wait, and wait. For almost six hours after the moon rose, no sound was made. Van Helsing sat in deep thought trying to think of where Everard might be.

Rossalyn was fighting against the full moon with a fury she hadn't known she had possessed. The pain wasn't as bad as it had been; but it was still bad. When she heard footsteps coming through the woods, she was slightly relieved.

"Van Helsing what are you doing here?" she asked, through bouts of pain.

"So that's your little friend," the voice was low pitched and cold.

"Everard," she hissed.

"Glad to see you haven't forgotten me, again." He stepped from the shadows, even in the light of the full moon in his human form.

"How are you doing that?" she cried, her envy overshadowing everything else.

He laughed coldly, and approached her. He bent down to where she was writhing on the ground and grabbed her chin in between his fingers. "Rossa, Rossa, Rossa," he chided. "I've always told you; as soon as you accept what you are the possibilities are limitless."

She couldn't repress the shudder that wracked through her frame at his touch. She jerked her face away and tried not to wretch. "I will never accept that I am a monster!"

"That's your problem," he whispered seductively. "You think we're monsters, when in reality we have a gift. You and I can't possibly be the only Half Weres alive. You remember what we used to say as children. That we were going to grow up and show the people like us what we learned?"

"Until you started trying to kill me!" she snapped.

He stood quickly and kicked her in the stomach with his hunting boots. Lights burst in front of her face as a new wave of pain washed over her.

"Until you abandoned our pack, our hopes, our dreams! You left it all! Turn Rossalyn! Become what you were meant to be, save yourself, you know you can!"

She blinked her eyes over and over again, and looked up at him from her position on the floor. "I would turn to save someone in an instant. If you think I'm weak enough to do it to satisfy myself, or you, you are mistaken." She grabbed her knees and pulled them to her chest.

"That's the way the dice fall I guess," he whispered, as he let himself turn into his Were form.

Near morning Van Helsing abandoned his wait at the tower, something wasn't right. If Everard wasn't going to come, he wanted to go make sure Rossalyn was okay. Maybe she had injured him worse than she thought.

By morning Rossalyn was barely alive. Because she had spared his life so many years ago, he couldn't kill her. However he could still inflict wounds on her that weren't deadly. The pain of stopping herself turning and the pain of Everard's torture were combining to destroy her.

"Turn! Why do you insist on holding onto foolish ideas that people are divided into good and evil, into monsters and humans?!"

"I will never turn Everard!" she screamed. He reached down and with a paw drew his claw across her arm. Fresh blood bloomed out of the cut and Rossalyn could barely scream, black was seeping into her vision, for a moment she feared death had come to take her at last; but as the pain became a distant memory, she didn't mind so much.

As the wind blew a breeze into the clearing Everard lifted his head, Van Helsing was coming. As much as he wanted to wait and watch Rossalyn suffer, he left the clearing.

Van Helsing approached cautiously; but quickly when he heard no sound coming from the clearing. He threw away the caution however when he spotted Rossalyn lying on the forest floor, covered with deadly slashes her blood staining the dirt.

"Rossalyn!!" he yelled as he rushed to her side. Even as he looked at her his hopes fell. No one could survive the wounds as severe that riddled her body. The logical part of his mind whispered that no one could still be alive with such injuries as hers.

It was happening again, another loved one. He realized he had loved Rossalyn just as much as Anna, and he couldn't save her either.

He stood and turned away from her body hissing the name with venom beyond pure hatred, "Everard."

Suddenly he heard shallow breathing; he turned and fell at once to Rossalyn's side. Her eyes flickered slowly open, but her breath was so faint.

"How?" was all Van Helsing could stammer. "No one could still be alive," he reasoned.

The corners of her lips rose into a pitifully weak smile, "no human could."

He laughed with relief. "We have to get you to a healer!"

"No healers!" she tried to speak with conviction; but was too limp to sound the least bit oppositional.

"I can't treat wounds this bad," he said as he gathered her gently into his arms, and started racing toward the village.

"Healers will know where these came from! I'll be a werewolf to them, a monster! Take me home, I'll be okay!"

He had to focus on where he was going, trying not to jostle what he was holding. "No, we're lucky your alive now, I'm taking you to a healer and that's the end of it!" he however, being able to walk and all, held the upper hand.

She took a few shallow breaths, and passed out of consciousness.

When he knocked on the healer's door an old matronly woman with a sweet face answered. She beckoned him in quickly when she saw what he was holding. The woman told Van Helsing to set her on a table with linens over it and she set to work immediately. She then called in a younger girl to assist her. With the younger girl's assistance Rossalyn was quickly bandaged up, and was being given concoctions, to help regenerate blood loss, every fifteen minutes.

The young girl gave frequent glances in Van Helsing's direction, turning away and blushing deeply if he ever saw her watching.

After half an hour and the sun rose in the sky the elder woman beckoned away the younger girl who left reluctantly. Then she went towards Van Helsing and spoke with a matronly voice, "she's fighting very hard; but it is a miracle that she is alive now, with wounds as grievous as those. You need to have realistic hopes. She will probably not survive the morning."

Van Helsing shook his head slowly, she was strong, she was going to live.

"It's really only a question of how long she has left," she said softly.

Van Helsing stared on and nodded brokenly; he reached inside a pocket and removed a pouch of money from the cardinal for his journey. "Take it all; for your silence," he handed it to her and went to Rossalyn's side.

He pulled up a chair and sat next to her all morning. Even though he hadn't slept in 24 hours he couldn't make himself fall asleep. Too many thoughts were racing through his mind: his hatred for Everard, and how he was going to make him suffer for this, his feelings for Rossalyn which had only become clearer, and his fear that she wasn't going to live.

He slipped his hand into her limp fingers and set his forehead on the table she was lying on. Whether moments or minutes after he couldn't tell; but there was a jostle of movement, his head shot up and he was a little disappointed when the younger girl looked shyly over at him. She quietly started putting more bandages on top of those that Rossalyn had already bled through, and administering a clear tonic.

"What happened to her?" the younger girl whispered softly.

"An animal, a wolf I think," Van Helsing lied.

The young girl nodded apprehensively. "Is she your wife?" she asked with trepidation. "I've seen her around town before; but I have never before seen you."

"No, she's not my wife," he laughed, there was something comical about it; the younger girl brightened up considerably at this. However a new string of thoughts entered his mind when she left.

He sat next to her bed all morning; both the younger and older woman coming in and out of the room, doing a variety of things to her. At length the elder woman gave him a cup of something bitter smelling and told him it would help him sleep. Soon after he took it he fell asleep, his head on the table.

He woke about noon; and stood stretching out his muscles. When the older woman saw him she laughed, "I was about to make sure you still had a pulse."

"How is she doing?" he asked.

"It's like nothing I've ever seen," the woman responded, with a tone that suggested he might already know that. "Some of the cuts are already gone without a scar," she peered at him from over her spectacles knowingly.

"It's a miracle," he said obviously, not breaking the eye contact.

She smiled, "it must be," she answered and nodded, "she's a real fighter."

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah she is."

Neither of the two healers gave any notice that something strange was happening, despite the miraculous scene playing before them.

The bruises on Rossalyn's face and back were completely healed by that afternoon. All the cuts and slashes were healed over with new skin a few hours after that. She was riddled with scars; which slowly but surely were disappearing. The only thing the healer feared was some internal damage. She had a few broken ribs, a broken arm, and leg which had healed some but didn't seem to be making any progress.

Van Helsing had at once been uneasy; but she explained bones were the hardest thing in the body to mend and they simply took time. She wrapped them in splints to let them grow correctly and Rossalyn was awake by four o'clock.

Van Helsing had been dozing in his chair, when she'd started moving. His head snapped up so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. "Hey, hey, hey," he put an arm on her shoulder to keep her from sitting up. She turned toward him; but her face turned blank and her breathing went deep with pain as she clutched at the broken ribs.

"Take it easy," Van Helsing said, with a wide smile, happy to see her awake.

She groaned, "what happened?"

"You don't remember?" Van Helsing stood instantly with concerned terror.

"That's fairly normal," the head healer replied as she entered the room.

She stood next to her gently prodding some injuries, taking off bandages. "Do you remember your name?" the healer asked.

"Oh," Rossalyn winced as she fingered the broken ribs. "Rossalyn," she said apprehensively.

"Good," she said with a nod from Van Helsing.

"How much is 157 plus 233?" she asked.

"390," she responded quickly.

"When's your birthday?"

"June…" she squinted. "June… June thirtieth!"

She began to look a little worried, and she looked at Rossalyn, ignoring her injuries. "Do you know what the date is?" Rossalyn struggled for a moment.

"It's um, its April…. April…"

Van Helsing began to worry. "Do you remember who this is?" she asked gently brandishing a hand at Van Helsing.

Rossalyn looked over at him with a clear struggle, before looking away her cheeks tinged with red. "Yes!" she almost shouted with clear frustration. "I know who he is, I just…I just…!"

"Shush," the older woman comforted. "This might be temporary; you had a bruise on your head; but it looked like a minor injury. Give her fifteen minutes and ask again." She instructed Van Helsing, before leaving.

"Help me sit up," she asked after a moment. He gave her an arm and she gingerly raised herself up. "Gabriel!" she said excitedly after a moment. "Gabriel Van Helsing!"

Van Helsing smiled, "you remember what happened?" he asked.

She closed her eyes, "I remember walking with you towards the clearing. I remember you promising to tell me what had happened to you," she opened her eyes, "so don't think you can get out of it." Van Helsing smiled. "I remember you leaving," she sighed resignedly, scrunching up her face. "I remember Everard."

He sat on the edge of the table and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. She didn't seem sad or confused or angry, just doubtful. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," he whispered at length.

"Gabriel it wasn't your fault," she whispered back. "It was mine." Van Helsing let go of her instantly.

"Rossalyn it wasn't your fault!" he said almost angrily.

"Yes it was! I should have known this was coming!" she sighed angrily, and looked a bit calmer. "I've known Everard all my life. I always know exactly what he's thinking and how he will respond to everything; but lately I just didn't want to deal with him, so I didn't." Van Helsing wanted to shake her arms and tell her this was all Everard's fault and no one else's.

"I'm the reason Everard's here, and I should have been the one to do something about it a long time ago."

"Rossalyn it's not your job to be perfect, you can't stop all the evil in the world," Van Helsing tried to reason.

"Only you can?" she asked. "It sure as hell is Everard's fault for the death of those people; but their blood is on my hands too."

"You can't fight Everard and fight against turning."

"You're right," she looked at him suddenly with deep understanding. Van Helsing through for a moment this might be some sort of lingering damage from her injuries; but she looked over at him, and he recognized the same fire in her eyes. "A lot of things are clear to me now."

Van Helsing pulled her against his chest again. The two sat in contemplative silence for a while.

"You should go back to sleep," Van Helsing reasoned at length, loosening his grip.

She smiled, and nodded. "Gabriel thank you for caring," she smiled sadly and laid down again.


	9. Acceptance

Another warning about my crush on Hugh Jackman; but I must say Chapter Six was better work. This chapter if for ReaderFreak, who I am fairly certain is the only one reading. But that's okay, you always write reviews!!

A few hours of a sleep that was more quiet contemplation than anything else Rossalyn woke up.

When Van Helsing entered the room, she was no where to be seen. He leapt into action at once. "Rossalyn!" he barked. He had only been out of the room a moment, which even that he had been a little apprehensive to do.

The healers had informed him Rossalyn was stable and going to make a full recovery. She should probably stay the night, the healers lived close by, and they would give her a final examination in the morning, before letting her leave. They would have the little infirmary to themselves that night. Which, on the edge of the town, Van Helsing hoped wouldn't attract any attention, when Rossalyn went through the pain of trying not to turn.

His heartbeat began to race when he couldn't find her. What if Everard had been watching? "Rossalyn!" he barked louder, he covered the ground in long strides. He went into the narrow hallway, when Rossalyn stepped out of a room and almost ran into him.

"What is it?" she asked, swallowing the last bite of a piece of bread she held between her fingers.

Van Helsing sighed with relief, "don't worry me like that." He tried to sound a little menacing; but with the relief in his voice the effect was minimal at best.

She looked rather let down, she rolled her eyes. "Van Helsing I'm fine." She tried to move past him in the cramped hallway. But with Van Helsing standing, even sideways, in the tiny hall, she could hardly move past him. "You can't protect me forever," she admonished.

He stuck his left shoulder out at an angle to black her way. "Why not?" he asked, staring at her unabashedly. She lost the natural brightness she always wore on her countenance; and read between the lines of what he was saying.

They were standing so close. Van Helsing could smell her perfume; feel her calm breath against his skin. They were compacted unmercifully in the little hall; but somehow she stood so they weren't touching.

He moved slowly, leaning closer and closer, all the while his eyes trained frozen to her face. Eventually he was right up against her, his face right next to hers. Both of them moved suddenly. Before either knew what was happening, they were pressed firmly against one another. His hand around her waist, hers on the back of his neck.

He recognized the sensation come flooding back. The same feeling he'd had that night in the woods; but now he welcomed it. Their lips barely brushing against each others, eyes trained on the others. A light kiss, a moment's stare, another, each growing deeper and deeper, until there was no pause.

His heart was beating violently, and he could feel his blood speeding through his veins, growing warmer and warmer.

_Monks take vows of celibacy_, he found himself thinking. He was all for abstinence until marriage; but why in the hell celibacy?

He held her against him, his arm around her shoulders, watching as the sun began a gold and scarlet sunset. They still had time before Rossalyn would be in pain; but not enough, each moment felt precious.

"What can we do?" Rossalyn finally asked, reflecting the thoughts going through Van Helsing's own mind. "I can't stay here any longer, its past time for me to move on, and the healers won't keep my miraculous recovery quiet for long."

"I've been thinking about that. You'll come back to Rome with me, back to the Vatican." Van Helsing couldn't leave her.

"You seem awfully sure of yourself," she teased.

"It's all well earned. Basically, if you say no, I'll carry you all the way there," he teased right back. "I love you," he whispered softly, laying his head against hers.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Rossalyn's head swiveled around toward the back of the room. Van Helsing was immediately put on edge, "what is it?" She drew a finger to her lips, keeping her eyes glued to the back of the room. She rose silently.

She hadn't heard anything, she'd felt it: a surge of anger at Van Helsing's words. But it had been more than anger, it had been rage, and though the word seemed to convey none of the passion with which she had felt it….it was hatred.

She approached the back of the room silently; walking on the balls of her feet. She closed her eyes and listened. Then she heard the brush of someone or thing against the bushes. Adrenaline pumped into her system.

She walked silently back to where she'd sat, focusing on listening as the sun sank lower and lower into the sky. Van Helsing clearly wanted to shout the question tugging at him; but remained silent. She drew his hand into hers, and displayed his palm where she began to trace letters on it with her finger. An H…E…S, she wiped at is palm with the back of her hand, L…I…S…T…E…N…I…N…G.

Van Helsing nodded, he mouthed his question 'where'?

She tilted her head towards the back of the house, which was covered by the woods. Van Helsing stood; he crossed the room and grabbed the six shooter with silver bullets loaded into each chamber. He cushioned the sound as best he could and pulled back the hammer on the gun. He was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to keep his presence quiet, he merely wanted to give the illusion he didn't know Everard was there.

He crossed to Rossalyn and kissed her quickly. "This ends tonight," he didn't bother to whisper. Rossalyn nodded. Van Helsing kissed her again before passing through the door.

Rossalyn almost collapsed at the feeling of hatred and desire she glimpsed from the absent Everard. Van Helsing was in more danger then he could imagine, only she and Everard knew what he could truly be capable of. And he, at this moment, no longer wanted to kill Rossalyn; he wanted to make her suffer, by killing Van Helsing instead.

Van Helsing stepped into the forest area. He gave the area a quick scan with his eyes, before continuing onward. He would have to catch Everard by surprise. He closed his eyes, barely able to see the faint path in front of him; and put all of his concentration on listening, waiting for Everard to strike. He drowned out the sound of his own footfalls and focused solely on the sounds of the forest around him.

Hesitantly he heard him. Everard began to follow him. His footsteps were so faint Van Helsing was tempted to dismiss them as his own musings. But he focused on them, imagining Everard in his mind's eye.

Everard allowed him to venture fairly deep into the woods, the sun sinking ever lower. But Everard wanted to attack while she was still in a conscious state, a state where she could feel the pain he hoped this would cause her. Maybe then she would turn again and Everard could accept her again as his sister and as his partner; the pair they were always meant to be. It definitely wasn't love. He hated her for what she had done; but perhaps a need for someone else; someone who was like him, trapped in the same state of eternal misery and confusion. He needed to see that person's strength, he didn't want to be alone; but enough of him hated her, he wouldn't regret watching her die if it came to it.

Van Helsing waited, he was drawing closer, slowly gaining on him; under the impression he was defenseless. He would have to wait until he was too close for him to miss. Everard grew careless and cocky, soon Van Helsing could hear his desperate breath; and then he leapt.

Like a wolf from its hiding place, he leapt at his prey. Van Helsing turned on his heel, a bullet loosed from the muzzle of the gun; and hit him right in the heart. He fell to the ground, stunted in his magnificent leap. Van Helsing remained, he crossed himself; and stepped over him as he made his way back through the woods.

But as he passed out of ear shot he heard something. He turned and saw Everard, breathing labored, rise. Everard reached at the spot he was bleeding at and shoved two fingers inside the wound. And after a moment's disbelief Everard pulled the bloody silver from his chest. He glanced at Van Helsing glaring at him in repulsion and saw him; he smirked and flicked the bullet away. Another moment, this of concentration, and the deep wound in his chest sealed itself.

Everard turned his neck, and two loud cracks sounded. "Beautiful thing about being the first of a species: you get to learn all these neat little tricks." He launched himself at Van Helsing.

Van Helsing was fully unprepared for this, and he dropped the gun. He went limp and felt the slickness of the movement as Everard rammed into his like a speeding brick wall, and knocked him onto his back. In the moment, inertia still propelling them Van Helsing threw his body backwards, and the two tumbled over again, Van Helsing landing on top of Everard.

In the moments of surprise a punch to the jaw was loosed by Van Helsing. Everard took it; but when the next blow came, he caught it. Just like that, with a hand, Van Helsing's fist went straight into his palm.

The next few moments were a struggle, Van Helsing landed several blows; but Everard was propelled with strength and stamina from the full moon rising above them. It didn't seem to matter what he did to him, each blow did nothing but a moment's damage. However Everard's strikes did more damage than any Van Helsing had felt before. Each punch was like a brick, thrown at top velocity. After only a few he was hanging onto consciousness. Then Everard picked him up and threw him against a tree, and a snap was clearly audible.

From the location of the pain, Van Helsing was fairly certain it was a broken rib. He was hanging onto consciousness by his fingernails, only awake because death was the other option, for him and Rossalyn. Everard approached him; he had a hunting knife in his hand, drawn from a sheath in his boots. He bent his knees.

"I'm amazed. You really put up a nice fight; it really took me this long to kill you. But you are Rossalyn's last defense, she'll fail after this. You were the last thing in between her and acceptance. I really can't believe she let you stand there this long," it sounded genuine. Van Helsing would have retorted, or at least spat in his face; but he was still trying to fill his lungs with the air that had been knocked from them.

"She didn't used to be like this you know; this passive," he spoke the word disdainfully. "She used to be a great warrior, and she will be again. She's become a coward, with enough fear to let you die for her. When she knew, even she wouldn't be able to beat me." He laughed coldly and mercilessly, as though only he could appreciate the real irony and humor of the moment.

"I can't believe she let you wander out here tonight, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to beat me." He raised the hunting knife. "Se la vi."

A figure appeared behind Everard, and a blade was pressed to his throat. "I didn't."

In the shadowed light before the sun was fully hidden, she was easy to discern. She'd torn off the bandages that had covered her, and stood at the end of a sword, Everard's life in her hands.

He turned his head gently to look at her, and a smile came to his lips. "You little…"

"Ah ah ah!" she muttered, pressing the blade more firmly to his throat. "I'm holding all the cards now. Drop the knife," she ordered.

Everard poised it over Van Helsing's body. She merely raised her eyebrows in response. "You really think I won't kill you?" she asked.

"I think I'm going to die anyway, might as well take him with me; seeing as your out of reach, at any rate. Why shouldn't I?" he asked.

"Because I'll give you a chance," she replied coldly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Why?" he was even cocky enough to question that hand that was feeding him.

"Because, the brother I knew was the most amazing person I think I've ever met, except Michael, God rest his soul," she admitted. Everard shrugged. "And I don't want to kill him until I know that he will never return."

Everard gave a confused but accepting look and buried the knife into the dirt, while Van Helsing fought to stay conscious.

She backed away and removed the blade at his throat, allowing him to rise, before tossing a sword and scabbard at him. "We fight like our ancestors."

He grabbed the sword with lightening fast reflexes, and drew it just as quick, as though afraid she might change her mind.

"I, Rossalyn Calcavanti, release you, Everard Mondego, of the debt you owe me of one life spared."

Everard huffed, "that's your mistake." He struck.

She parried instantly. Everard moved quickly with grace and speed as though the sword weighed nothing to him. Rossalyn fought just as fiercely, with unmatched grace; doubtless the two had learned the lost art many years previous before it had vanished in a world of quicker answers.

Rossalyn held onto her sword tightly, with sweating hands, she hadn't done this in a while. Van Helsing had almost caught her when she'd snuck from the infirmary to her home to retrieve the weapons. She'd had to sneak in through the kitchen window.

Rossalyn fought with no defense, she was ruthless and calculating with an overwhelming offence. Everard parried blows easily, like they were nothing, his strength was as such, but second greatest gift lie in swift offensive blows.

The two had dueled each other more than any other person, admittedly without ill intent; but knew what to expect. The better of the two had always been Everard. His defense was perfect, he could parry every blow, and all he needed was a single opening to throw in a single blow.

Van Helsing watched in awe, he had never found the sword to be a particularly useful skill, and had not sought to improve his already formidable skill; but watching their ease made him want to try.

"It's no use Rossalyn, you can't win. I admit, it looks like you've been practicing and," he swiped his sword at her feet. "You've learned a few tricks." She leapt and the sword cut through the air arcing to protect its master again. "But I've always been stronger, I always will be, and," he looked at the horizon and the last few inches of sun left, "your time is up." The sun dipped below the horizon and the world was thrown into darkness, as eyes acclimated Rossalyn gave a cry of pain.

Everard relaxed and his body began to shift, he wouldn't go into his full were form, he couldn't grip a sword and there was his advantage. He threw back his head and howled his voice shifting from human imitation to a true wolf's cry. His arms lengthened, he became taller. Muscles grew, creating taut and harsh lines of definition on his body.

His face changed as well. He blinked and his eyes changed, he could see perfectly in the dark and colors were skewed so they were barely distinguishable to him. His face was given a more muzzle like likeness. He could smell everything and could have operated perfectly well with only that. The sounds of the night were thrown into sharp clarity; every sound was the signature of what lay around him. The stupid human laying on the ground struggling to breath, Rossalyn's cry of pain, and the sounds of the forest all calling out to him.

By the time the process was finished he was eight feet tall, standing still on his hind legs. He was more of a human abomination than animal. His skin remained, but he felt a great likeness to the strength lent him in his full Were form.

He still retained the sword which felt as though it weighed ounces, if that. As he took in his surroundings he saw Rossalyn, she drew herself full height. He felt confusion flood him; she was as tall as he! Then he saw the less than subtle differences, she had turned into her Half Were state.

"No!" he shouted. This is what he had wanted; but in this form he feared her. They were pack; he knew what she was capable of, how natural the state was to her. "How?!" was all he demanded.

It had been painful for a moment. Not only physically; but spiritually. Initially she'd fought it, when she'd issued the cry. To allow herself to become what she had fought for so long, bombarded her with doubts. But as she'd given herself over to the need that she'd denied herself for so long. And stood nearly nine feet, broader, stronger, more powerful, with her senses so acute, somehow it all felt right.

"Once you accept what you are Everard, the possibilities are endless."


End file.
